Believing,feeling and pretending
by xAnemx
Summary: Her hand falls limply to her battered and bruised side and he tells her unconscious form that she fought well and the hidden meaning like always, hidden underneath layers and layers of lies is that he’s proud of her.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So here I go. First of all, disclaimer: Soul Eater, does not, under no circumstances belong to me. This story is only fan-made.

Now...it amused me to write this one and hopefully, if I'll have free time to spare and ideas then this will be continued.[I intend to make one in Maka's point of view, but oh well. I'll see what the future has in store for me] I hope that I managed to keep them in-character, if not, then I apologize for the slight OOC.

**I.i**. **Proud**

Her hand falls limply to her battered and bruised side and he tells her unconscious form that she fought well and the hidden meaning [like always, hidden underneath layers and layers of lies] is that he's proud of her.

**ii. Belief**

He believes that somewhere out there her mother is proud of her and if she isn't, then Soul's damn sure that she's crazy.

**II.i Guilt**

It would reach her green eyes whenever she would see his scar [and he knew that she was always bad at hiding the emotions swirling inside of her] and it would reach his heart whenever she'd succumb into depression because of it.

**ii. Scar**

A perfect diagonal of damaged flesh, a constant reminder of his duty, his want, his need to protect her.

**III.i. Stupid**

They always had arguments because he actually liked making her angry. He expected screams [and he would scream back], he expected a maka chop [that was a regular thing so it didn't surprise him anymore], hell, he even expected kicks [sure, why not? If he was a sadist, the he could be a sadist until the very end] .Stupid. He told her she's like that, but he never expected the kind of reaction she had.

**ii. Tears **

He never knew how to deal with weepy overemotional females [and he never actually cared either] but when tears started to pour out of those big pools of faded emerald, he felt himself grow panicky and ashamed, a pang of guild piercing right through his heart.

"Oi, Maka, stop it."

And she cried harder.

**iii. Useless**

But what was he supposed to do? Here was his silly dummy of a technician, crying her heart out in front of him and all he could do was to stare. Was he always like that?

**iiii. Touch**

He threw one arm over her shoulders, squeezing one bony arm in comfort.

"Sorry."

Short, blunt and so tipically him.

"And don't make me repeat myself."

She sniffed. He brushed his free hand through snow white hair. Another sniff.

"I hate you."

He grinned. She scoffed.

"You don't."

It was a thing of 'he knew, she knew' and both of them knew that it was the truth. She hit his shoulder and his catlike grin widened.

**IV.i. Smile**

"Maka."

Her name rolls smoothly and easily off his tongue and her wide eyes , scared and apprehensive, turn to look at him. He grins his usual grin.

"Let's not die."

She blinks and then smiles and her eyes are once again hopeful and joyful and he tells himself that it's not the last time he'll see her smile and he believes it.

**ii. Idiot**

She's tired. He can see that [it's not that oblivious anyways]. She's hurting too and her breath is ragged and uneven, though the damn moron is trying to hide it and insists that she's fine. Well, fine then. He'll let her be. Her legs tremble underneath her and he expects her to fall down anytime [he swears to himself that if that happens, then he won't raise a single finger to help her].

"Idiot."

He mutters under his breath and she hears.

"Hmm?"

He shrugs.

"Nothing."

She nods and leaves it like that.

**iii. Help  
**

She stumbles and almost falls, but he catches her by the elbow [here goes his resolve to not help her. He's just so weak] and holds it in a stern and iron-like grip. Her skin is hot under his cool fingers and for a silent moment he watches her.

"Soul…?"

She struggles a bit, visibly uncomfortable. His grip is harder and she opens her mouth to protest, but he leaves her no time. He lets her go, turns his back and kneels.

"…what are you doing?"

Her voice is raspy and he growls the words out.

"Get on."

She hesitates at first and he growls again. She complies [though they both know that it's not because she's afraid of him], sliding her skinny arms around his shoulders for support. He puts his hands under her knees and lifts her [and he's amazed once again by how easy she is, despite what he tells her all the time], continuing the long way home. Her head is lolling from side to side and he can almost see her trying to keep her consciousness. She fails and he knows it by the way her arms are limply hanging from his shoulders.

"You're such an idiot sometimes."

And he snorts.

A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated alongside with constructive criticism. Sankyouuuu~ *waves*


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:Well, here it is guys. Second chapter. [yeah, so I actually got ideas and thought that maybe I should post 'em since probably you were waiting for them. Disclaimer is in first chapter.

----

**V.i. Steps**

She walks in front of him with small, tense steps and the only sounds he can hear are the ones made by their feet touching the floor.

_Clip. Clap. Clip. Clap._

It's almost annoying. He hears her sigh and watches her shoulders slump a bit.

_Clip. Clap. Clap. Clip._

The rhythm changes and he grabs her wrist, long, slender fingers curling around the thin part. She turns her head to look at him, confusion and curiosity shining brightly in her eyes and he grins.

"Do your best."

And she grins back.

**ii. Game **

She grips his scythe form with a strength and willpower that amazes him. She begins fighting and he notices [and makes a mental note to himself] that her moves are fluid and succeed each other rapidly in a deadly game of 'kill or get killed'. He makes a small tch-ing sound in the back of his throat. She gradually ignores him and concentrates on the fight. He always loved games, especially if he was the winner.

**iii. Weak**

And he's hurting every time she looks guiltily and brokenheartedly at the floor [or walls, whichever is convenient] avoiding his eyes and when she's thinking so lowly of herself [thinking that she's not a good technician or that she's weak and mostly useless], but he can never gather his words [nor his courage] to tell her that she's so much more than she thinks she is.

**VI.i. Fairytales**

She knows she loved stories ever since she was little, when her papa would tell her fairytales about princes and princesses and white horses and living happily ever after and love. She sighed. Too bad they weren't real.

**ii. Kiss**

She always hopes [and mostly dreams] about her first and ideal kiss, with her prince charming [blonde, blue eyes, an archetype of perfection ], with fireworks and flowers and rain and people clapping in the background because _they were meant to be_ and all the mushy romantic stuff a girl could ask for. But when it comes [white hair, red, red, red eyes, an archetype of imperfection], in their apartment [at least it was raining outside] she tells herself [while his slender fingers are gripping her forearms and he bites her lower lip in a hungry and chaste kiss] that she got the exact opposite and she still liked it.

Well, Soul was never that much of a romantic to begin with.

**iii. Fight**

They're both flustered and still a bit angry, glaring at each other with their faces only inches apart. He whispers.

"You're an idiot."

He glares. She glares back just as fiery and retaliates.

"And you're a moron."

He almost wants to laugh at the irony of the situation, but he controls himself and continues.

"Why won't you listen to me? You never do."

She looks like he just slapped her.

"So it's my fault now?"

He almost feels sorry.

"I didn't say that."

She struggles to escape but his fingers are tightening against her arms, pinning her to the wall and successfully preventing her escape.

"But you implied it."

She struggles again. Doesn't she know that she's fighting a lost fight already?

"I didn't. You assumed it."

He's calm and she's angry, her cheeks burning a bright red, though he doesn't know if it's because of the kiss or because she's annoyed. He assumes that it's because of both.].

"Touché. Now I'm listening."

He sighs.

"Stop doing reckless things. I can't always protect you."

She gets angrier and he can tell that she's near hysterics.

"I don't need your help. If I recall correctly, I never asked for it."

She almost shouts the last part and he's the one beginning to feel guilty when he notices her teary eyes. She avoids his look.

"I know. It's my duty to do i-"

She interrupts him and she's screaming again.

"Your duty? Your duty? Then you can just give up on your _duty_."

He's frustrated and sighs again.

"Will you stop implying things? Fine, it's not my duty. I _want_ to do it. I'm sorry."

She almost rolls her eyes. Soul saying sorry wasn't exactly a daily thing.

"Damn right you should be."

He chuckles.

"You're stupid."

Her eyes are once again locked with his.

"I can say the same thing about you too."

"I know."

And he crushes her lips with his once again, hungrily and desperately and he has a feeling that after this all thoughts of the fight will be lost.

A/N: Thank you for those who reviewed [even though I only got two reviews]. You made my day guys, I really appreciate it. *hugs*  
To AkhikoYuki: Hope you got my review reply, where I explained what you wanted. If not, then Pm me again and I'll try to answer again. Thank you very much! *hugs*


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: soooo...thank you so much everyone. *huggles for everyone* Seriously now, I appreciate the reviews you wrote and I want to thank you for them. Thank you,thank you, thank you. *hugs* So...this chapter is a bit shorter, but I'll try to compensate with posting the fourth one soon enough. The ideas are all written down and all I have to do is copy them on the computer when I'll have time. [this week will be a reaaaally, reaaaaally tough one with school and manymanymany tests and projects but I'll do my best so that I can post soon.]

Enough with the babbling and rambling. Disclaimer is in first chapter. Enjoy.

**VII.i. Sometimes**

Sometimes, Maka wants to slap him. Sometimes, she wants to hit him. And sometimes she just wants to grab him and shake some sense into the damn fool's head. What's with him trying to act all cool and strong and mysterious all the time? It drives her crazy. Sometimes, she wants to grab his hand and yell at him and tell him to be himself and just this once, she does it.

**ii .Thanks**

He stares at her, not fully comprehending what she just said and for a moment [a short-lived one] she wants to take her words back and slap herself because she's such a fool. But then, he smiles [no shark-like grin, no teasing smile, no mocking one], a soft smile that turns her legs to jelly and makes her stomach knot itself and do cartwheels and turn and jump and turn again. She feels his hand in her hair, long, dexterous fingers ruffling it and in the process ruining her perfectly made ponytails [Kidd would throw a fit if he'd see them] and she tells herself that it's his way [strange, but his way nonetheless] of saying 'thank you'. He turns his back to her and his hand retreats in the comfort of his pocket. Sometimes, Maka just wants him to be himself.

**iii. Smile**

She watches him leave, hands in his pockets, lazy attitude on and she can't help but smile at his retreating back.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews, thank you, thank you, thank you. *free hugs for everyone* Sorry for the long wait, but here it is. The fourth chapter that all of you have been waiting for! Enjoy! [Disclaimer is in first chapter.]

**VIII.i. Scream**

She screams, a terrified ear-splitting type of scream [that almost makes his heart stop beating] and throws his scythe form onto safe ground. He can only see for a small moment as she falls backwards, almost as if in slow motion, passing the border between ground and thin air. Time speeds up again and he transforms into his human form, desperately making a move to catch her hand or leg or almost anything and he succeeds. The monster they were previously fighting clings to Maka's leg, digging his claws into the soft flesh [almost like Soul's nails dig into her wrist and he makes a mental note to himself to apologize for that]. He grits his teeth, trying to hold both of them, [both Maka and the damned monster] while they're limply dangling on the edge of the cliff.

**ii. Slip**

He can hear the monster's insane cackle [and he himself tries to grab every piece of sanity that's left, every piece of consciousness that tells him to keep holding on] and Maka's soft whimper as she tries her best to kick the damned thing with her free leg. He bites his lower lip as he feels her hand slipping beneath her fingers.

"Damn it…let me..."

She hits the thing again and he's clawing relentlessly and even harder than before at her leg. She whimpers again and Soul mutters a curse.

"…go!"

And she hits him again, full in the face and the thing lets go, falling into his sure death and Soul can almost sigh in relief. He grips her harder and pulls, while she's clinging to his arm and tries to get up on safe ground.

**iii. Safe **

They're both struggling and he swears to both himself and her that she won't fall, she won't fall, _she won't fall._ Her bruised knees finally touch the rocky edge, scrapping them again and he throws an arm over her back to help her as she slumps in exhaustion against his chest. Neither of them cares. They're breathing hard and labored but after a few mouthfuls of oxygen, the breathing gradually becomes calmer. He looks at her.

**iiii. Smile **

She has a small silly smile plastered on her face, even though she almost got herself killed [as in almost fell off the edge of a cliff type of death]. He doesn't ask about the smile because he has a vague idea about what it could be about, so he asks her another related thing.

"What's with you throwing me aside in the fight?"

He wants an explanation [and he wants it now] and his voice is stern and with a little hint of anger coating it.

"You would've fallen with me."

He's not content with that short answer but he leaves it like that, though he wants to hit her for being so stupid sometimes [but he tells himself that she has enough injuries for the day so there was no need to give her other ones]. He snorts.

"Tch. A weapon has to protect it master, not the other way around, stupid. And look at your leg. It's a bloody mess."

She flinches but keeps that silly smile.

"Just some scrapes."

He scoffs and this time hits her softly on the head.

"Those scrapes of yours seem like some large gashes to me."

She shrugs and then grins.

"You're overreacting. Like always."

**iii. Concern**

He takes a good look at her leg and flinches. A small pool of dark red blood has formed under it. He sighs and takes his jacket off.

"What are you doing?"

He rips the cloth in long thin pieces [and man, she was sooo going to owe him for this one] and grabs her leg roughly. She whimpers and he doesn't want to apologize.

"Wrapping your leg a bit to stop the blood flow. No need to have you fainting here of blood loss. No offense, but you're heavy and I don't fancy the idea of carrying you home."

He's lying shamelessly and he knows it. Hell, he thinks that even she knows that the reason he gave her is a big white lie.

He wraps the torn cloth around the damaged flesh and she chokes on her words [he assumes that it's because of the pain]. His eyes soften a bit.

"Just bear with it for a little. Only a bit more."

A little bit more, he repeats in his mind as he ties the loose ends.

"Finished."

**ii. Take the long way home**

She nods a bit and he helps her get up, encircling her waist with one arm. She limps and hops against his side and with his other hand he grabs her arm and puts it around his shoulders.

"For more support."

He states and the long way home begins. She trips twice, thrice, he's lost count but he doesn't complain. It's not her fault, anyways.

"Sorry."

He stops for a moment and takes his arm off her waist, bringing it to her head and ruffling her hair.

"Don't be."

And he brings his arm around her waist once again.

**i. Thanks**

"Ne, Soul?"

He tilts his head a little to look at her, just enough to let her know that he's listening.

"Thanks for saving me. For not letting go, you know."

He grins.

"Who would have turned me into a death scythe if you'd have died?"

She groans.

"How cunning. Idiot."

And they leave it like that, because they know that both of them are content.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: really sorry for the late update, but eh...I've been really busy with school and stuff. Enjoy! Disclaimer is in first chapter. Really special thanks to all the lovely persons who reviewed.

She sighs, letting her head drop until her forehead hits the table.

"Ouch."

That damn well hurt. She hits her head again and a soft "thump" resonates in the small room. It was still his fault. She doesn't listen to him, he says. She's reckless, he says. Well, damn it all. She says that he's infuriating. And she says that she's so damn annoyed. She hits her forehead against the table once again.

"Will you stop torturing yourself?"

His soft voice reaches her ears and she groans, a long groan in which she bottles her frustration and anger and hurt and once again frustration.

"No. Now get out."

How did he manage to get in her house anyways? Probably broke in.

"It's my house too, you know."

She can almost hear the grin in his voice.

"Oh."

She says. She hates him even more now.

"But still, get out."

She doesn't seem threatening, not even to herself. It's pointless.

"Why would I?"

She hears his soft steps coming closer and she wants to crawl into a hole and not come out. She just wants to stay in her little dark hole and hug herself and forget about Soul and feelings and wants and needs. The table wood creaks softly and she groans once again. The moron has taken a seat on her table. Damn him. It was_ her_ table.

"Get off."

"No."

Her eyes are blazing with fury and hurt and she just wants to scream.

"I said get off."

He rolls his eyes.

"And I said no."

He moves a little, coming closer to her stiff and still form. He reaches his hand and puts it on her head, his fingers tangling in her hair and curling the strands around them. She raises her hands and buries her face into them. She refuses to let him know she likes it.

"Stop it."

And he does and takes his hand away and she's grateful [annoyed, mad, grateful and mad again] because he stopped. His fault. It's only his fault that she turned herself into a walking, living, breathing paradox. His fault, his fault, his own damned fault.

"I hate you."

She feels his hands on her upper arms, lifting her and she gasps and struggles. She doesn't want to see him and doesn't want him to see her and she growls a low menacing growl. When did he become so strong? And in the next moment she's looking at him and doesn't really see him because her vision is foggy and her eyes are itching and why the hell are they wet? She wants to wipe at them and make the wetness disappear [gone, gone, wipe it away with something, _just make it gone _and she feels like a three year old again, screaming for papa to make the boogieman disappear] but he's still holding her and she can't move. Strange. She can't breath either. He frowns.

"Stupid."

And she falls against his chest in a messy crying and sobbing heap and tries to cover her face with her hands. She really wants her hole right now. His arms encircle her and hold her and she chokes in a half sob.

"Breathe."

He reminds her and it hurts because she can't, can't, can't.

"Maka. Breathe."

She shudders and takes a gulp, a mouthful of oxygen and her lungs burn.

"Good girl."

He kisses the top of her head and she really feels like a little girl in his arms. But she's not little, nor is he. She's just Maka and he's just Soul and she's his technician and he's her weapon. She laughs bitterly. That's the reason for him staying with her, not like, not friendship, not love. Only duty.

_Tick. Tock. Tack. Tock. Tick._

Time passes and she's gradually becoming calmer with each breath she takes.

"Now, can you talk?"

His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp knife and she struggles with her answer. She can but she doesn't want to talk. Not now, not with him, not there. She nods.

"Good. Now why did you cry like that? 'T scared me witless."

He sighs and she can feel his stare burning in the back of her head. She raises her head a bit, almost afraid and coughs. He rubs her back with one hand.

"I can't talk."

She has a chance of him believing. He snickers.

" You did that just now."

So he didn't believe. If she could avoid talking, then maybe he'd get bored and leave her alone. She stays quiet. One of his arms leaves her back [she almost wants it back, wants its warmth and comfort back] and he pushes two fingers in between her ribs. She half chokes on a giggle. Damn him for knowing she's ticklish.

"I'm not leaving so you'd better tell me. Now."

He tickles her a bit and grins wolfishly.

"Or later…?"

She groans. Where the hell are her chances of escaping?

"Why won't you be Shinigami-sama's weapon?"

It's done. She asked him. It'll be over soon and she'll find her hole. He blinks and blinks again and laughs and that annoys her. How could he treat something important like that in his damn carefree way?

"I have a master, now don't I?"

Oh-ho. He answers her question with another question, rhethorical as it may be.

"And why wouldn't you change him for someone more powerful?"

His smile fades and he looks at her almost shocked.

"That's what bugged you? That's why you cried and went all hysterical on me?"

He sounds angry and unbelieving and it makes her feel guilty.

"Forget it."

She tries to escape him but he doesn't let her. Damn his strong arms holding her in place.

"Small chance of forgetting it. I'm pleased with my master, thank you very much."

She rolls her eyes.

"I'm not pleased with myself, yet you, Soul Eater Evans, critic extraordinaire are pleased with me?"

He frowns and knocks on her head lightly. It hurts a bit.

"You're being stupid. Like usual."

"Answer the question."

He rolls his eyes and hits her again, only softer.

"I am. You're my master, I'm your weapon and we'll stay like that. Got it, stupid?"

She sighs.

"Because of duty?"

"Damn, this is annoying. Because I want to. Because you can't take care of yourself alone, so I'm here to help you."

He grins his goofy usual grin and she feels herself lighten up and she wonders what does he do to make her feel like that.

"Like I'd need your help."

A/N: Constructive criticism very much appreciated. Review? :3 It always makes me happy.


	6. Chapter 6

They say that drunk people talk a lot and speak the truth. Soul says that a drunk person [alright, a drunk Maka] only laughs. Laughs, laughs and chokes and says nonexistent words [hard to believe that when he's talking about his bookworm of a technician] and then laughs again. He blames Blair for this. Maka stumbles and he catches her arm to keep her steady and standing on her own two [skinny, wobbly, uncertain] feet. And Liz can be blamed too. His meister attaches herself to his arm and he sighs. But Blair is definitely his principal blaming target.

Maka laughs again and he shoves his hand in his pocket [when, oh when will this hell end? He hopes that it's sooner, rather than later.]

"Ne, Souu~ul."

She giggles like the drunk she's being and then stops and Soul can't help but be thankful for this little moment of peace [it's not that he loves silence, but he seriously didn't want to spend his Sunday night with a drunk meister on the streets of the sleeping city]. He feels something wet hit his cheek and looks at the sky. Somewhere out there, Soul believes that there's a god and he also believes that said god hates him. Really bad. Little wet drops of ice cold water drop to the ground and on the pair of teenagers [because seriously, gravity just had to hate him too] and he can't help but hope that the water will wake his partner from the state she's in.

"…I feel sick."

There's no such thing as luck for him in this one night. A gurgling sound escapes her throat and lips and she forces a hand to her mouth and runs in the nearest alley. He slaps himself [this is so stupid and uncool] and runs after her, only to stop moments later when he sees her slumped over a trashcan and emptying her stomach's contents [just this once, he pities her and the food he worked so hard to make under the threatening glare of a "Maka chop"]. Three steps forward and he's next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders [to keep her steady, he tells himself] and grabbing [ever so gently] her hair to keep it out of her face [there was definitely no need to have almost-digested materials in her hair. He always liked it clean and soft.].

And as the vomiting sounds stop [he can swear that it stopped hours later] she slumps over him [wet and tired and drunk and sick because she never was the type to resist alcohol] and he's there to help her and guide her to their home. They both stumble on the stairs [mostly because she's almost unconscious and he has to support both of their weights] and he fumbles with the keys. Luck just isn't on his side. He hits the door with his foot, once and twice and then goes back to the keys [because their neighbors would find it awfully disturbing to see him trying to kick his way in and break the door to their very own apartment]. He shuts the door behind them with a soft thump and walks over to the couch where he lets his meister drop unceremoniously onto the soft pillows. After all that he's been through until then, he refuses to do anything else and leaves her there [he needs a hot shower and warm and dry clothes] and thinks that she'll wake up when he's in the shower or changing. He's wrong and after he finishes his shower and walks into the room to get a cup of milk [god knows how much he needs it] and sees her in the exact same position he left her in he almost feels guilty.

He nudges her a bit with his hand.

"Oi, Maka, wake up."

She groans and rolls over and he gets a look at her face. Sickly white skin [except her burning red cheeks], wet hair and wet clothes and he tells himself that's a no-no and feels all the more guilty. He can't make her take any pills or something [because she's either sleeping or unconscious. He prefers the first] and he definitely can't just change her clothes into dry ones [first she'd maka-chop his ass to Venus when she'd wake up and second, her lunatic father would kill him for tainting her innocence]. He nudges her again.

"C'mon stupid. Wake up."

She doesn't [and he makes a note to himself: kill both Blair and Liz when he sees them]. He sighs and groans. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. He sits on the edge of the couch and pulls her to him [her skin is cold, he notices with slight worry in his features] and gradually begins to take off her jacket, shoes and socks [at least that, he can do] until she's only dressed in her skirt and shirt. He can't go farther.

"Stupid tiny-tits, making me do this."

But his voice is gentle as he dries her hair with a fluffy towel. He lets her drop softly once again onto the pillows and covers her with some blankets. He hopes she'll feel better [though he isn't sure. She looks like hell, he has to admit.] and he kisses her forehead after brushing off some stray strands of hair from her face [he's a sucker for sick girls looking so frail and porcelain-like.].


	7. Chapter 7

A/N. Hey there, everyone. I'm really sorry for the late update, but I've been busy [still am] with school and exams*groans*. The good part is that this week I'm having my last exam and after this, I'll be as free as a bird. Yay! I wanna thank you all for the reviews you gave me, because really, they make me happy. Thank you! Well then, I felt like writing angst so here it is. Oh, and before I forget. It's really late right now [I just finished writing] and there may be spelling/ grammar mistakes thrown in there [not to mention that my first language isn't english and I still have lots of gaps to fill] and I'm apologizing right now for them. Please excuse them. I'm gonna shut up now. Enjoy.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

"Wake up."

He nudges her softly, a light feathery touch of fingers on her bare shoulder [the pre-kishin soul has been kind enough to cut down and rip parts of her clothes] and she doesn't answer.

"C'mon Maka."

Another nudge, another touch, another deception. The red _[red, red, so much red that it makes him go crazy and this time it isn't the red, red, red demon's fault]_ gash on her abdomen seems bigger and it's almost as if it's taunting him, snickering, grinning, smirking, screaming at him.

_Loser, sucker, weakling. _

"Wake up, tiny-tits. You're gonna maka-chop me for this, right? So c'mon, I won't mind."

He grins weakly, chuckles bitterly, cradles her head and prays, wishes, asks, screams for a sign.

_Shitfuckstupidsillylittlemakadon'tyoufuckingdieonme_

He takes what's left of her coat and pushes it onto the wound.

_Stop the red, red, red, stop it, stop it _

In the back of his mind the red, red, red demon chuckles darkly and tells him it's over.

_It's not it's not it's not_

And he wants to believe it so badly.

"Come on Maka, wake up, damn it."

And somehow his hands find her cheeks and his lips crash against hers [if fairytales were even slightly real, then she'd have to wake up, wouldn't she? And if not, then they could start right there and then]. She coughs and he can feel warm, red, red, with an ironish taste to it, blood on his lips. Her eyes twitch a bit [and hope is bubbling inside him once again] -o_pen them you hear me, open them- _and he can see a little bit of faded green under half-lidded eyes. He's never been more happier to see green in all his life and he feels like his heart seriously wants to leave its place in his chest.

"Good girl."

He's never felt more relieved either.

She can't feel nothing at all, yet she's hurting all over and she just wants it to _stop already, it hurts too much. _The black surrounding her is blinding and insane and harmful and she feels like a small, frightened child screaming for help. The black strangles her, chokes her, burns her and cuts her up in small, small pieces all at once and puts her together and cuts her, burns her, chokes her, strangles her all over again and _it's too much_ for her to stand. She's floating in an abyss of black, black, black _so much black_ she feels like crying and all she's feeling is pain, pain_, pain, make it go away, please, oh please _but no one comes and no one tries to make it stop and it hurts all the more. She chokes on a plea and screams a silent scream for someone, but she can't remember who she's screaming for [the name is on the tip of her tongue yet there's something there, somewhere in her mind that blocks all memories from coming] and all she wants is to curl in a pitiful, memoryless ball of a person she used to be.

She sees a silhouette somewhere in front of her and her hand reaches, reaches, begs and touches nothing because her fingers curl around nothingness and black and the next thing she knows is that she's on her knees, clenching and unclenching her fists, trembling, whimpering and crying. It feels like someone is strangling her, cold, long and thin fingers [a distant voice whispers some nonsense about pianists] curled on her throat, stopping all possibilities of breathing and she's afraid of looking up. What if it's real? What if it'll hurt more when all she wants is for the pain to stop? What if? She closes her eyes tightly and once again prays silently for it to _stop, stop, stop _or for someone to come and save her. Fairytales, she remembers faintly. She's probably a princess waiting for her prince, now isn't she? She laughs bitterly, because her prince has to come for her, now doesn't he? Doesn't he? _Doesn't he?_

And she screams.

The black curls around her ankles and wrists [like cold, wet tentacles] and she feels herself pulled in something that feels like water [it's cold, it's wet, it makes her choke and stop breathing and she wonders if asphyxiating is somewhat like this], it enters her lungs and she struggles, desperate to get out, to breathe, to live. She wants to live, she wants that. She wants to make mama proud and make papa see the great technician she is, she wants to be strong and she wants to see her friends again. She wants to live because she remembers, she screams inside her mind and she doesn't feel the water anymore, nor she can see the black, yet she's still hurting when she realizes that she's waking up. She knows that she's awake when she sees concerned red eyes staring at her [her vision is cloudy though and her eyes are only half-opened, so she can't see perfectly] and she can't feel more happy because she knows who he is, she knows how he looks and she remembers. She almost cries in relief.

"Soul."

Her voice, soft and weak and husky, almost cracks, but she wants to say his name and she wants to hear his voice because it's the only way that she'll know she's not dreaming.

"Yeah?"

She's not and this time she cries.

"Soul."

He grins because she's awake, his reckless moron is awake and this time, it has to be alright, because she won't die, right?

"Yeah?"

He's flabbergasted when he sees those tears and thinks briefly of what might have happened to make her cry, because Maka is strong and determined and she doesn't usually cry in front of others. He touches her cheek lightly with his fingers [he wants to make it look like a playful hit, a maka chop minimized by ten thousands of thousands].

"Hey. You can bawl your eyes out when I'll get you to the hospital and your dad will go all crazy on us. And believe me, _that's_ a good reason for crying."

He rubs away some tears [he stops a growl forming in his throat when those tears get mixed with the blood on her cheeks.] and takes off his jacket. She looks a bit puzzled [or dazed, almost like she can't see clearly. He blames it on her weak state] and he tries to put his jacket on her [because her clothes are torn and she's cold, he felt it when he touched her cheek]. He struggles a bit because she doesn't have the strength to help and then gathers her up in his arms. She looks too small in his jacket, almost buried in it, too thin, too frail, too pale in contrast with the blood smeared all over her and he feels her head resting on his shoulder [she's definitely weak right now, with all her wounds and the tiredness on top]. If she's lucky [he prays she is], then the large gash on her abdomen and all the other wounds will only need bandaging. He seriously hopes it's just a matter of bandages.

A/N: review, pretty please? Reviews and reviewers are loved. *sing-song voice*


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Yay. Next chapter. I'm so sorry for the late reply but I seriously had a writer's block and didn't know how to continue. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, because they just lifted my mood. :3 Hope you'll enjoy this one :3.

**Hospital**

The chair he's sitting on is made of hard wood and is [to say the least] uncomfortable, yet he can't bring himself to move, merely because he's afraid that she'll wake up [for the first time since he brought her there] and think that he left her all alone and forgotten [and because he remembers that when he was in her situation, he felt a lot better just because she was beside his bed, silently and unspokenly cheering for him]. His fingers rub his eyes softly [he has to admit it, he's tired and the second most wanted thing right now is some well deserved sleep] and he reminds himself that he doesn't want Maka to think that, just because despite the front that she puts up, she's still a girl and an emotional one at that.

She groans a bit in her medicine induced sleep [he dares to hope that she'll wake up], yet in a matter of seconds she returns to her sleep-like state. He slumps a bit in the chair and stuffs his hands in his pockets, releasing a breath he didn't knew he was holding.

Minutes tick by, the nurse comes and go, checks her pulse every once in a while, observes nothing of importance and just shakes her head and tells him to wait because _sooner or later she'll wake up, so don't you worry. _He chuckles, because it's easier said than done and stretches his arm a bit and grabs her hand gently, running his thumb across her knuckles and then her wrist. Still pale and still cold and he wonders for a moment if closing the window would help, though he decides against it. She needs fresh air almost as much as he does.

He yawns a bit and agrees with the nagging voice from the back of his mind _don'tsleepdon'tsleepdon'tbecausesheneedsyouawake_. That doesn't help and he yawns again as his eyes scan the simple room for a bit of entertainment.

"…you should go to sleep."

The soft voice startles him and he turns his head to look at his meister [because he knows the voice, soft as it is and he can't possibly mistake it for someone else's] and he manages a small grin, thoughts of sleeping lost.

" Nah. I'm not that tired. How'd you feel?"

He continues to stroke her knuckles, as he takes in her appearance, half-lidded eyes, hair free from her trademark pigtails, bandaged forehead and arm and scratched cheek. The stupid pre-kishin got her good.

"Sore. Sleepy and drugged and hurting. But mostly sore."

She manages a drowsy smile and he smiles back [why wouldn't he? She's awake and conscious and talking to him and he can't be more happy].

"Ah. It'll pass. Eventually. Guess I'm gonna have to cook this month, now won't I?"

He chuckles and plays with her fingers and her tired laugh feels like music [a melody in G] to his ears.

"If you won't poison me."

"That's the first thing I'll do when we get home."

She grins a similar drowsy grin and closes her eyes.

"Thank you for the appreciation."

He missed her replies.

"It's always a pleasure."

She opens her eyes again and he can almost see the tiredness in them.

"Sleep."

He commands her softly, brings her hand to his lips and kisses her fingers.

"Nah. I'm not that tired."

She throws his reply back at him and her satisfaction is almost palpable.

"Mhm. And you don't Maka-chop me each time I annoy you."

He grins back at her, just because he always knew how to throw back replies at her, because that's just the way they are and they like it. She feigns innocence.

"It's a hobby."

And he rolls his eyes.

"Sleep. On your own accord or I'll just call Nygus-sensei to do that for you."

"How rude."

But she closes her eyes anyways and drifts to sleep easily [he knew she was tired, yet the moron herself chose to ignore it], soft features more relaxed. He kisses her fingers once again and doesn't let go of her hand. Guess he'd have to go get some food soon enough [mostly because he hadn't eaten in while, and neither did she] and probably feed her [he's not sure she'll manage to do that on her own]. He chuckles. Silly girl.

A/N: Review? It makes me happy. :3


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: aye, I'm soooo sorry for being soooo late with this chapter, but I haven't been in town lately, with the vacation and stuff. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and made my days happier. Thank you guys, you're loved. *huggles* I'm hoping that you'll like the chapter. *keeps her fingers crossed* Enjoy!

One week and a half later and they're both back at their apartment [a messy thing, merely because Soul is Soul and he's a boy and he always did have a tendency of being messy [which is an understatement] so Maka isn't surprised to find their apartment in that state].

The night is cold [and wet, quietness disturbed by the thunder and darkness by lightning] yet he wakes up drenched in sweat [mixed with rain, because the damn window is open] and blinks groggily. He puts his left hand on his chest [if he's uselessly trying to make his heart beat slower, he doesn't know] feeling the irregular _thump-thump-badump-badump _of his heart and staring into the darkness of his room. The dream [nightmare?] he dreamt had felt so horrifyingly real, the images burning in the back of his mind and he [scared, angered, sad, miserable] almost expected to feel her cold skin against his and her sticky [sadistically red] blood on his fingers and then on his arms and then on his chest [he feels he's drowning in all of it and he somehow wants to push it into her body once again to just make it flow into her veins]. And he's holding her _so close and so hard and so powerful_ that if she'd be alive, she'd be hurting all over [sick, twisted, sadistic destiny wants to destroy his life and hers]. And he remembers screaming, screaming, screaming until he couldn't scream anymore. It was only a dream, he tells himself, a nightmare, a dream nonetheless, but his fingers touch his throat in a comforting way anyways [almost in a lovingly caress across his vocal cords].

One minute, two, three, maybe four and his heart still pounds and pounds and pounds against his chest so fast he's almost afraid of it, because the dream is there, in the back of his mind, probably false, maybe true, he thinks it's unreal [only a pigment of his imagination] but he can't make himself to believe it, so he just throws his covers on the floor [he'd have to change those wet, sweaty things later anyways], gets up and walks to the door of her room so quietly that he thinks he resembles a shadow.

He stops and his hand rests on the cold doorknob [he shivers involuntarily] and he can't make himself to open it, yet he's not leaving either. He takes a deep breath and pushes it slowly, ever so slowly and takes a peak inside. Lightning flashes, a couple of [milli]seconds later thunder crashes, he smiles a little smile and approaches her bed. She looks innocent, he tells himself, blond hair tangled on the pillow, soft snores echoing through the room [ he refrains from chuckling, because he fought with her because of that, him saying that she snores and her denying everything and hitting him with a big book]. Her arms and her legs are so tangled in the sheets, that he doesn't know how the hell she's gonna untangle herself from all of it tomorrow, yet he finds her pretty [the kind of beautiful kind of pretty, because beautiful is too much of a hassle and he doesn't like those kind of mushy words] despite the bandages wrapped here and there. Somehow, his fingers find the bandage on her forehead, rubbing them softly and only when she stirs in her sleep and mumbles a tiny incomprehensible word does he stop. He doesn't intend to wake her. She does, anyways [she always, always finds a way to ruin his plans, this girl] and opens [just a tiny bit] her eyes and mumbles, once again.

"Wut?"

He takes the word as a 'what', strokes her hair gently and tells her to sleep. She complies and he chuckles silently. He's grateful for her continued sleep since he didn't need to have her waking up and getting all worked up and worried for nothing. His fingers leave her hair and his eyes search the room until they spot a chair in front of her table. He grins a bit and moves the chair until it's next to her bed, he plops on it and relaxes. He'll just spend the night here, where it's warm and cozy and where he can just forget about nightmares and wounds and death, because she's here, sleeping next to him and because destiny isn't at all that sadistic. Maybe, just maybe, destiny is playing it cool, and maybe, just maybe, destiny will surprise them with its kindness. He hopes that, because hoping for a better future is always cool, yet he wants to cherish the present, just because it's cooler than dreaming of a future.

A/N: review? it always adds sugar to my days.


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